


bad addictions are better than good (it’s true)

by Anonymous



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Gym AU, M/M, School Clubs, Sexual Content, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jisoo goes to the gym hoping that exercising might get his mind off smoking. He comes back with a renewed addiction to Jeon Wonwoo.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustALittleProblem](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustALittleProblem/gifts).



> [Original Prompt: Jisoo goes to the gym (after much egging from his friend(s)) and turns right back out after he sees longtime crush Wonwoo. University!au would be nice for this.]
> 
> dear recipient, 
> 
> this is my first time writing jisoo or wonwoo as legit main characters so i hope you understand why this came out so messy ;^; 
> 
> for jisoo's character, i took a different approach from how he's usually portrayed (or so i think) and i'm not sure how it worked out but i hope you like him! i had so much fun writing jisoo, thanks to you :) 
> 
> hope you enjoy and happy reading ♡
> 
> p.s. smoking is bad for you, kids

“What the fuck is this.”

It’s not a question, but a flat statement that comes out of Jeonghan’s mouth when he steps into their club room—an abandoned chamber at the far end of the West Wing of their Music building that even the school janitor refuses to come near. Figures, for an a cappella club that’s lost school funding privileges two terms ago due to the lack of public interest. Hip hop has become the new fashionable trend, and probably will continue to be for an eternity, Jisoo thinks.

“Reality, hyung.” Seungkwan responds, sitting next to Jihoon on the piano chair as the older male slams his fists down on the keys to veil his fury as musical inspiration. “We’re down to five members now—Soonyoungie hyung just took Junhui hyung and Myungho hyung with him to make a new dance club. Seriously though, no one can blame them, I mean look at us—”

“No, I meant what the fuck is wrong with _him_.”

Jeonghan points to the corner of their room, where Jisoo is sitting on the dirty floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring blankly at nowhere in particular. Or so they think—but Jisoo has never been more alert, just waiting for something tiny and black to wriggle into his peripherals. If stupid Yoon Jeonghan would stop moving, the only thing that disrupts his attention would be the thin silver lines of smoke that ascends from the tip of his cigarette, fixed between his fingers.

“Cold turkey. Remember how Jihoon hyung threatened to kick him out unless he quit smoking?” Seokmin explains generously, looking up from playing crosswords on his phone. “Fifth day and he’s cracked—he’s using up the rest of his pack to fry spiders that occasionally crawl by.”

Jeonghan frowns in confusion, cranes his neck forward to examine Jisoo’s surroundings, then gapes in disgust when he realizes what the identities of the black smudges on the floor are.

“Shit, Hong Jisoo,” He hisses, dragging his chair as far away from him as possible. “That’s wildly fucked up, dude.”

Something squirms in the corner of his eyes at that moment, and Jisoo leaps for the small brown bug with way too many legs, catharsis exploding inside his mind as soon as there’s some sizzling, and the intensified smell of nicotine shoots up his nose.

“Oh my god.” Jeonghan whispers. “Someone help him.”

Seokmin shakes his head. “Quitting smoking does weird things to you.”

“Smoking rots your lungs and scars your vocal chords.” Jihoon snaps from over the piano. The cigarette burns to its end, and Jisoo jerks as the heat jolts the tip of his fingers. It brings him back to his senses, and Jisoo groans after a series of rapid blinking. He thinks he’s possibly going mad.

“I’m a good person.” He whines, getting up to his feet. “I’m never like this.”

“Doesn’t make you very convincing when you’re standing among an insect graveyard.” Jeonghan points out, “Did you try anything healthier than this sadistic shit? Nicotine gum? Patches? Inhalers?”

“I’ve tried everything.” Jisoo fidgets nervously, clenching his trembling hands and trying not to step on scorched bugs. The whole thing’s already satanic as it is. “Here, take this and throw them out for me.” He shoves his pack of cigarettes in Jeonghan’s arms, eyes never leaving the box as he bites his nails nervously. Two seconds in, and Jisoo fakes another spider spotting. He shrieks. “Fuck! Last one. It’s huge, that one’s got to go.”

He springs for the cigarettes but Jeonghan rocks back out of his reach, and Jisoo’s way over the edge to prevent himself from falling flat on his face. His head rings in pain, the floor’s disgusting, but nothing is as bad as the wave of self-hate that rises from the pit of his stomach to fill the rest of his body. The chords that Jihoon plays on the piano are helpfully, incredibly sad. He’s pathetic, everyone can see it, and Jisoo mumbles,

“I need help.”

“Hyung, don’t worry.” Seokmin pulls up in his chair and pats Jisoo’s hair that’s recently been dyed the colour of a grapefruit—another one of his stupid impulsive stunts from trying to take his mind off smoking. Not so far in the distance, Seungkwan starts singing a melancholic tune to Jihoon’s minor chord progressions, adding lyrics like, _Jisoo hyung snapped like a dried up twig, o dried up twiiiiiiig._

“There’s always a way to replace a bad addiction with a good one.” Seokmin says reassuringly, and Jisoo moves his head slightly. The younger male correctly understands it as a sign to go on, that he’s interested. “Clear out your schedules tonight, I’m fixing you up for good.”

When Jeonghan starts harmonizing, Jisoo just nods.

 

-

 

Seokmin’s brought him to a fucking gym. The university gym. Jisoo’s not exactly an exercise kind of guy—slipping out for a smoke and walking up three flights of stairs all in a duration of ten minutes between his lectures is exercise enough for him—thus exposing his scrawny form to the people he’s probably brushed past at least once or twice on campus, is not an ideal way to spend the evening. The irritation triggers an itch for a smoke.

“Oh, come on.” Seokmin unfairly plasters a wide grin on his face, the one that’s difficult to say no to. “It’ll help, trust me.”

As much as Jisoo doesn’t want to admit it, it works. Sort of. After spending an hour on the treadmill, another hour on the cycle, and another brutal one tormenting himself under weights, Jisoo is on the verge of passing out, too exhausted to think about the puffs of nicotine coursing towards his brain to allow him heavenly moments of relaxation.

…And fuck. Jisoo groans as he takes a bottle of body wash and heads for the showers, realizing he’s thinking about _it_ as soon as he stops coercing his body over the pathetic limits of his physical capabilities. He’s doomed to exercise forever, nonstop, maybe acquire horse thighs like Seokmin that will look clownish in contrast to the rest of his body and his naturally thin bones. Jisoo tries to pull off his shirt and groans louder when it clasps onto his cartilage piercing, unsuccessfully trying to untangle the wet, sticky piece of fabric off him as he draws one of the shower curtains open.

The first thing that comes to his mind is shit, this one’s taken. The second thing, however fucked up, is the fact Jisoo’s view is pointed downwards due to the shirt stuck over his head, and that he’s staring at someone’s dick—and that he knows whose it is.

His shirt gets unhooked from his ears at that moment, and it flops down unceremoniously over the bottle of body wash that’s slipped out of his grasp.

“Jisoo hyung?” He—the _guy_ —says, and _fuck_ , oh my fucking _god_ , there’s a spark of flame on his face that spreads to the rest of his body like wildfire. Not because of the exercise, or the hot steam, or because he’s just seen a naked body—okay slightly, but more importantly—because it’s Jeon Wonwoo.

“Oh my god, s-sorry.” Jisoo stutters. It’s hard to place his eyes anywhere that’s not a part of naked Jeon Wonwoo, and Jisoo tries to get out of there when he backtracks on the bottle of soap and slips—almost cracking his skull on the tiles if it isn’t for Wonwoo who grabs his arms and pulls him back to balance. For the time being, he genuinely resents the naked male for not letting him die.

“Thanks.”

“Careful.”

They say at the same time, and before Jisoo could do anything more stupid such as giving into touching Wonwoo’s slick body—say, his dick—he whirls back around and runs. Forgets to put on a dry shirt, and flies into the nearby convenience store to buy a pack of cigarettes where he finishes half the pack in one sitting. Because dear _god_ , that was possibly the world’s worst way to re-encounter the person that broke your heart.

Sort of.

He, however, still finds Wonwoo immensely attractive. Ugh.

_it worked, didn’t it?! :D_

His phone flashes with a text from Seokmin, and Jisoo mashes the stick under his shoes. He stomps on it aggressively, determined to forget about Wonwoo altogether when the orange light dies off. When he picks it up to throw it into the trash can, the butt flickers.

 

-

 

He knows it’s worse than worst because even Jihoon lets him off for one day. They’re shooed out of the club room though, because second-hand smoking is apparently not a myth, but a legitimate thing. Despite last night’s events, Jisoo still thanks god that no one comes near the West Wing, because he’d kill himself from the amount of compiled stress if he was fined ten million won for smoking indoors. Seokmin looks overly-apologetic and Seungkwan looks full of pity, meanwhile his best friend decides to be fucking amusing. Not.

“I don’t know what’s more impressive—you exercising for three hours straight or you recognizing Jeon Wonwoo by seeing his dick.”

“It’s manners.” Jisoo hates himself for retorting back to Yoon Jeonghan being a dick—no pun intended. He leans against the doorframe, forefinger lightly tapping on the stick and staring at the dust of ashes falling. “I remember the ones I’ve sucked off.”

“I’m still miffed about the fact that you slept with an enemy!” Jihoon yells from inside the classroom over some tinkering of the piano.

“I didn’t _sleep_ him with him.” Jisoo mutters through an exhale, “Because I actually _liked_ him, but he was drunk, and I didn’t want it to end up as a one-night thing.”

“Then I’m miffed about the fact that you jacked off an enemy!” Jihoon shouts louder, and Seungkwan’s brows soar in befuddlement.

“Hyung, I’ve been dating Chwe Hansol for almost two months.”

There’s a jarring triad, and Jihoon’s low growl follows shortly after.

“And you’ve been dead to me since.”

Jisoo blames everything on their university. Everything, like Jihoon’s one-sided declaration of war on the hip hop club, the bitter history between him and Jeon Wonwoo, and he’ll even go as far as blaming them for his smoking—because why else would he have picked it up?

Everything is the university’s fault, because the school had decided to hold their first ever music concert last term, where Jihoon found out about the excessive popularity and support that the hip hop club held—the difference in the volume of applause was a scratch to the leader-slash-president-slash-head arranger-Lee Jihoon’s ego—and where Jisoo found Wonwoo, drunk and vulnerable, bopping his head cutely off rhythm at the after party.

Jisoo is lying if he hasn’t been staring at Jeon Wonwoo sitting two rows in front of him every Mondays and Wednesdays in Music Theory III. The quiet and reserved second-year, who blows on his round spectacles and rubs it clean every time before class, and folds it neatly into a black case with his lean, skinny fingers. He’s usually so crisp, tidy, and effortlessly graceful, that Jisoo is knocked off his feet when he sees an absolute transformation on stage—clad in black leather, dark hair mussed, and voice scratching against the mic to growl suggestive lyrics that has Jisoo gasping _fuck_.

So when Wonwoo notices Jisoo, recognizes him as the tenor from the a cappella stage and smiles with a scrunch above his nosebridge, Jisoo actually feels himself falling, his heart tilted at an arc. From then on, Jisoo remembers twenty seconds passing by in slow motion. It takes less than half a minute for Wonwoo to stumble over and very incoherently ask him about their Music Theory III assignment. And that’s when his heart tips over to an irrevocable flip—and Jisoo decides that he really wants to make it work.

But Jisoo’s tipsy state takes them under a fixed routine, and it doesn’t occur to him that this might not be the proper way to do it when Wonwoo’s pushing him down on a bed, grinding their pelvises together and sticking his tongue down his throat. Jisoo laughs when Wonwoo makes a face, complaining that he tastes like tar. So maybe it’s him but Wonwoo too tastes like cigarettes—cool and smoky. With every brush of Jisoo’s touch, he lights up. He flickers. Jisoo wants to finish him up.

Too caught up in his immediate desires, Jisoo tries to ignore that Wonwoo is drunk, pinning him under his weight to trail kisses down his thin frame and take him inside his mouth. Wonwoo gasps, and it’s like going on a dazzling ride, watching Wonwoo on stage all over again. Every goddamn thing that comes out his mouth—hot pants, bursts of hisses, or the long moaning of his name—has Jisoo wanting more and more, wanting to see him, and hear him upfront, closer.

When Wonwoo cums, fingers roaming through his hair and pulling at every shiver, Jisoo realizes he wants this continuously, over and over and over. Jeon Wonwoo is addicting—the rough lips, protruded clavicles, the bony ass that digs into his thighs and has him hurting, everything. So he pulls back when Wonwoo claws for his mouth, knowing that he would never get there if he continues now. Jisoo tries to think on how to explain this, eyes fixed onto Wonwoo who still flickers, emitting warmth.

He lights a cigarette, because it’s impossible with a lack of nicotine in his system when he’s mildly obsessed with a disheveled, breathless Jeon Wonwoo at the moment.

Jisoo remembers the younger’s adorably confused look that quickly switches to an indignant demanding one, asking for a cigarette too.

“You smoke?”

Jisoo asks out of pure curiosity when Wonwoo snatches the light between his lips and moves it to his own. He refuses to answer, his lips softly casing around the burning stick. He takes a puff instead, and the events that take right after, are still stored in Jisoo’s mind as a giant blur. Wonwoo exhales right away, starts coughing, and before Jisoo can ask if he’s okay, Wonwoo drops the stick and the front of Jisoo’s jeans catches on fire.

By the time the fire truck arrives to see that a mob of drunk university students had half-stripped a boy who caught on fire and rolled him into a blanket burrito, Jisoo is relieved to find that he still possesses a functioning dick and immediately goes on to look for Wonwoo amidst the crowd. But he’s dragged back, forced to listen to the angry firefighters who give him an hour lecture on fire safety procedures, and Jisoo would open his mouth to vocalize the word ‘dispirited’ to describe how he felt—to Yoon Jeonghan who kept asking who was offended enough to try burning his (not) small dick off—if his soul hadn’t already been extinguished along with the flame.

He doesn’t see Wonwoo in his usual seat in Music Theory III the following morning either. And when he spots him scurrying out of the classroom a week later, Jisoo gets the message and decides not to bother him anymore.

That is, until he walked in on him completely naked.

“You’re still going back to the gym tonight.” Jeonghan declares, snapping Jisoo awake. He sees Seokmin nodding in agreement, and he can hear Seungkwan trying to coax a very peeved Jihoon inside the classroom.

“What?” Jisoo shoots, loading his entire attitude onto the single syllable.

“I really want to know what will happen next!” Jeonghan grins widely, grabbing his free hand and jumping up and down.

Seokmin’s nodding stops short. “Uh, I just want to help you quit, hyung. You said exercising worked.”

“Nuh-uh.” Jisoo scowls, trying to lash Jeonghan off his arm. “I am _never_ going back there, and you can’t convince me otherwise.”

“Then I’m kicking you out!” Jihoon yells again. Jisoo’s about to shout back that he really can’t, he can’t afford to, when Seungkwan pipes, “Yeah, he’s kicking you out!” and helpfully steers Jihoon’s hostility back at himself.

(“You’re not safe either, traitor.”)

Quite morbidly, Jisoo might have to go back to frying spiders again.

 

-

 

Jisoo is back at the gym. It is, undeniably, the only way that gets his mind off smoking. But at least he’s not at the school gym—it’s a local fitness center that is five kilometers off from their campus…and possibly naked Jeon Wonwoo.

So he has no choice but to believe that he’s fated to die young from lung cancer, when he’s running on one of the treadmills and Wonwoo appears out of nowhere. Jeon Wonwoo, who halts when their eyes meet, fully clothed but skin still slick, from sweat this time.

“Seriously?” Wonwoo blurts out aloud, which throws Jisoo off—quite literally. As if he hadn’t made himself look miserably stupid in front of Jeon Wonwoo already, Jisoo trips over his own feet and topples down on the machine with a loud crash, scratching his chin against the coarse treadmill belt.

After the whole smoking dick and naked shower incident, Jisoo finds enough audacity to think maybe it isn’t all too bad. He slaps some cold water on his chin to wash the blood off and valiantly continues on with his life—he ignores that it’s only been five minutes and he’s still in the gym washroom wondering where he went wrong as he stares into the mirror—because hey, he can always hide his blazing face behind the smoke when he burns away his dark memories and rots a piece of his soul.

So Jisoo stops by the convenience store for a new pack on the way home.

Seokmin asks how exercise is going, and Jisoo drawls for a minute or two.

Because unfortunately, the more Jisoo goes to the gym, the more he ends up in another one of those pathetic nights where he tries to burn his immediate past into ashes. Like some type of jinx, Jisoo almost dies whenever he sees Wonwoo.

He wishes it could be metaphorical, but it’s not.

The second time they run into each other at the school gym—risking a fifty-fifty chance was clearly a mistake—Wonwoo flaps his sweat-drenched shirt to cool his flushed cheeks, and Jisoo drops a seven pound dumbbell which barely misses his right foot by a centimeter. The third time they cross paths, Jisoo is at the gym with a set determination to not get distracted. Wonwoo uses his adam’s apple skill when taking long gulps from his water bottle. Jisoo doesn’t realize his headset cords getting sucked into the exercise bike wheels and bangs his head against the metal handle.

Every time they make eye contact. He slips. He falls. He bruises.

He ends up smoking.

It’s helping, Jisoo lies to Seokmin.

Jisoo thinks he might be craving instant death because he attends the gym anyways. He half anticipates on meeting the grim reaper each time, leaving slight room for excuse by going at ungodly hours. So when he meets Wonwoo at the gym at three in the morning, Jisoo slightly trembles in fear. It could, possibly, be the end, so he decides to turn right around and walk out of there—but the jinx activates remarkably fast and Jisoo’s feet gets entangled between his jump rope. The rope snaps before Wonwoo can turn away and pretend that he didn’t see anything, and the rubber rope hits Jisoo right in the mouth.

“Uh,” Wonwoo’s eyes widen. For the first time, Wonwoo doesn’t do his usual thing where he feigns poor eyesight and leaves Jisoo to squawk in pain by himself. He holds his hands out and gestures towards him as if to calm Jisoo down, as if he might be a walking bomb. “Stop moving, hyung. You’re bleeding.”

Jisoo obeys, frozen like a stone statue, but more like his body’s forgotten how to move from the excessive embarrassment. Looking like he doesn’t want to inflict any further damage, Wonwoo walks over cautiously and takes the jump rope out of Jisoo’s hands. He puts it down slowly, eyes never leaving Jisoo, and he grabs Jisoo’s wrist and leads him towards the reception desk. Jisoo just follows, letting the younger male drag him around as Wonwoo takes the first aid kit and seats him on a locker room bench after carefully examining their surroundings. Considering the time, there’s nobody else but them, and the only thing Jisoo hears is Wonwoo trying to steady his breathing. It’s awkward.

Jisoo flinches when Wonwoo selects an ointment and turns around to face him. A crease forms between Wonwoo’s eyes as he inspects his face from one end to the other—over the band-aid over his chin, the bruise on his forehead, and a small scar a few centimeters next to his busted lip. Jisoo clears his throat to shift Wonwoo’s attention from _anywhere_ but his face, and Wonwoo sighs. He squeezes the ointment onto the tip of his forefinger and applies it over the newest injury.

“Relax.” Wonwoo tells him when Jisoo tenses up visibly, unconsciously sucking in his breath. “There’s nothing here that you can get hurt from. I checked.”

Jisoo raises a brow. “Are you making fun of me?”

“I wish.” Wonwoo says gloomily, tapping his finger against his lip as gently as he can. “Not the best thing in the world to feel like someone’s live, walking jinx.”

His fingertips are cold, and Jisoo cringes every time Wonwoo accidentally presses too hard. Wonwoo mumbles sorry, and his warm breath ghosts over Jisoo’s face. Wonwoo’s face, is frankly, too close. Jisoo can’t stop staring.

“You’re not.” He says quickly. “I’m just clumsy.”

Wonwoo pauses for a brief moment, then he moves on to treat the scar on Jisoo’s cheek.

“That’s some intense clumsiness.” He says finally. “Very concerning.” Jisoo notices that Wonwoo takes however much time he needs before doing or saying something. It’s endearing and Jisoo appreciates this, because it grants him more time to spend with Jeon Wonwoo.

“I’m sorry for being clumsy too, then.” Wonwoo turns vaguely pink. “I really didn’t mean to… uh,” He drawls off, searching for the right words, and Jisoo can practically hear Wonwoo’s eyes rolling from side to side. “…set your pants on fire.”

Wonwoo quickly rummages through the first-aid kit for a band-aid, trying to hold back from having to lock gazes with him again. “I’ve wanted to say sorry for forever, but I lost courage every time I saw your face.”

Jisoo reaches out to helpfully hand him the band-aid box—blue and covered with dressed animals, boxed letters reading Pororo the Penguin.

“Don’t worry about it.” He reassures him. “At least you didn’t set me on fire.”

It hits that it wasn’t at least bit comforting when Wonwoo looks at him with horror-filled eyes and blinks rapidly, the corners of his mouth drooping as if to cry.

“Oh god, I’m really really sorry.” Wonwoo says in a rush. “That was actually my first time smoking, I just yanked it out of your mouth because I was upset, I thought you didn’t like me, but then I suddenly couldn’t breathe? It tasted disgusting, even worse than I’d imagined, and I dropped it by accident—”

“Wait, wait.” Jisoo cuts him off. His heart does a little flip. “You were upset because you thought…”

As if to have realized what he’s just gushed out, Wonwoo hastily takes a band-aid out of the box and applies it aggressively over Jisoo’s cheek. He seems regretful that he can’t bind Jisoo’s lips together with it when the older male begins to chuckle, pressing over the band-aid with more force than necessary until Jisoo stops to hiss ouch. 

“Can I ask you why you kept coming to the gym?” Wonwoo asks gruffly when Jisoo fails to keep in his laughter, crossing his arms and leaning against the lockers. “Unintentional of course, but I, your walking jinx, could’ve really hurt you one of these days.”

“Two reasons.” Jisoo continues to laugh, habitually covering his mouth with the back of his palms. The blush on Wonwoo’s face spreads over to his ears.

“One, I quit smoking and exercising helped me get my mind off it.” Jisoo explains. “Two, if smoking wasn’t going to kill me off, then Jeon Wonwoo was going to.”

Wonwoo’s brows soar. Jisoo grins.

“And if I was going to die from one or the either, I kind of preferred you.”

There’s a minor delay before Wonwoo knits his brows together and grumbles.

“Jeez. How romantic. You really have a way with words.” He turns around, trying to open his locker. It doesn’t budge. “Thrilled to know that you’ve fantasized about dying from a concussion to your head with me just stretching my arm in your direction. An, incredibly, plausible, scenario, honestly,”

Wonwoo’s words gain force with each syllable, the jammed locker door adding onto his frustration.

“Okay, how about this?” Jisoo gets up, bouncing over next to Wonwoo with his back to the lockers. “I’m addicted to shooting nicotine up my nose, but I’d rather be addicted to shivering Jeon Wonwoo down my spine.”

Wonwoo pauses. Jisoo silently counts one, two, and three to himself. His timing is somewhat off and there’s an extra second before Wonwoo scowls, but they’re only at the getting-to-know-each-other stage and Jisoo cheerfully scribbles a mental note. Four seconds. The length of time Jeon Wonwoo needs to process things.

“That sounded abstractly poetic but discomforting at the same time.” Wonwoo snaps. His hands take a brief rest from trying to yank the locker door open. “What are you trying to say?”

Jisoo giggles. “Will you go out with me?”

“No.” Wonwoo deadpans.

Jisoo stops giggling. “Wow. Okay. Out of everything you’ve done so far and could’ve done in the future, this was the one.” He clutches to his heart and gasps. “That really hurt. You’ve done it. I’m dying.”

Wonwoo rolls his eyes. He reaches out to hold Jisoo’s face in his right hand, fixing his chin between his thumb and forefinger to shake it playfully. Jisoo stops breathing, for real this time.

“Look. Your face tells all. You’re really pretty, but I’ve made some ugly contributions.” Wonwoo smiles apologetically. “For your own safety, I can’t go out with you.”

“You’re not going to date me because I almost killed myself from looking at you a couple of times?”

Jisoo yells. He pouts. He pleads. “C’mon. I’ll be a real good boyfriend. I’ll practice my way with words, I’ll get you your seat back at Music Theory III, and I’ll quit smoking for good if you think it’s disgusting.”

He almost has Wonwoo persuaded, he can tell, and Jisoo finishes matter-of-factly.

“You know it’s going to be really fucking awkward at the gym if you don’t go out with me.”

Wonwoo laughs. “You’re right.” The wider he smiles, the warmer his face turns. “Okay. Let’s try it.”

Jisoo beams. Wonwoo succeeds in jerking open the metal locker door at the moment, and Jisoo doesn’t see it coming to smash him in the face.

He passes out.

 

-

 

Jeonghan, as always, tries to ruin the Best Things in Jisoo’s life, but it doesn’t work this time. Nothing probably could, Jisoo thinks.

“So basically you’re going out with a personified hex that could kill you at any moment.”

“He’s really cute though.”

“You look like a fucking alien with that giant bump on your forehead.”

“Wonwoo almost cried. Can you believe? So cute.”

“You’re going to die.”

“Did I mention that Wonwoo takes four seconds to internalize the stuff I say? It’s the cutest thing.”

Jeonghan groans and gets up from his seat. Seokmin and Seungkwan start giggling, catch Jihoon glaring darts from the other side, and hastily attempts to chew the insides of their cheeks.

“Okay, I give up. Someone tell him how weird this is,” Jeonghan motions wildly towards the three new faces in their club room—the reason why Jihoon looks like he’s bit into a shit-filled donut. “Or you guys bring Jeon Wonwoo over and maybe Hong Jisoo can cease to exist.”

“But that’s why we’re here. Because Wonwoo hyung said he can’t be in the same room as Jisoo-nim.”

Mingyu pipes up from Jihoon’s left, completely oblivious to Jeonghan’s point. He unconsciously rests his arm over Jihoon’s shoulder, and Jihoon flinches violently before lashing the guy off. Seungcheol nods and skims through the texts on his phone again.

“Wonwoo said being careful can’t hurt, and he’s going to contact you as indirectly as possible until all damage on your face gets healed. He just sent me this, one sec.” He scrolls to the bottom of the screen and reads, “Hyung, can you ask Jisoo hyung what his address is so that I can send him letters and stuff?”

There’s a pained croak amidst the judgmental silence.

“Gosh, he’s so cute I can’t liiiiiiiiiiive—”

“Seriously? Home address?” Jeonghan blatantly speaks over his best friend, brows tightly scrunching together. “Email, right?”

“Mail boxes have a less chance of exploding than phones or computers…”

“Don’t.” Jeonghan cuts Seungcheol off. “Please stop explaining.”

Jisoo eagerly takes Seungcheol’s phone, punching in his address with a budding smile when he hears Jihoon’s annoyed voice.

“Okay, so suppose that dude is here to have his time abused by two idiots.” He says snippily (“I prefer lovebirds, Jihoon,” Jisoo calls, which gets ignored), “But why are _you_ here?”

Hansol rubs his neck sheepishly and steals a glance over at Seungkwan. Seungkwan smiles brightly and blows him a kiss. “I’m here to see Kwannie.” He says, biting down a grin.

Jihoon doesn’t bother hiding the appalled look on his face and turns towards Mingyu.

“And you?”

“I just wanted to see if a cappella club was real.” Mingyu shrugs, looking around. “Chill place you got here. I like those gross smudges on the floor—edgy.” ~~~~

“He means well.” Seungcheol pinches in and smiles apologetically when Jihoon starts to emit steam from the top of his head. “I uh, am here for Wonwoo, but I also came because, urm,” He pauses, curling a fist over his mouth to clear his throat before resuming to say, “I’ve been meaning to ask if you guys wanted to collab?”

Jihoon blinks in surprise. Seungkwan jumps up and practically shrieks.

“Of course we do! That would totally save our ass, this club is on the verge of disintegrating into thin air…”

Seokmin jabs him in the ribs, and Seungkwan snaps his mouth shut. Jihoon lets his glare linger on Seungkwan for a few more seconds before he turns to Seungcheol again.

“Sorry.” His tone is curt and precise, like how it always is when his ego’s hung by a thread. Seungcheol slumps, looking like a kicked puppy that has even Jihoon hesitating before he adds an excuse. “We’re really busy practicing a new song and a collaboration would be too much on our plate.”

“What new song?” Jisoo, half-distracted, looks up from the phone. He hands the device over to Seungcheol, grabs his cardigan that’s slung over his chair, and flies out of the room without forgetting to add, “Incase you decide to vote on it, I’m all for it, the collab I mean! So is Wonwoo! Don’t bother calling or texting us to ask!”

“Ugh, I vote for it too, just so that I can be there to witness it in person when Hong Jisoo perishes to his death.”

Jeonghan’s convincingly sincere and envy-coated words are the last thing he hears before he darts down the hall, but it just makes Jisoo’s heart soar higher. He runs as fast as his legs can take him, cutting through the campus field and bursting into the school gym where he spots Wonwoo right away—the lanky boy with soft dark hair, sitting on top of a cheap blue mat and struggling to do sit-ups on his own. Jisoo stalks over breathlessly, a fond laugh wedging out between heavy huffs when Wonwoo’s sharp eyes grow comically wide.

“How did you know I was here?”

He asks, body still curled up into an awkward ball as he stares up at Jisoo. Jisoo walks around him, plops down by Wonwoo’s feet and holds his legs in place. It naturally rocks Wonwoo forward.

“You told me. We were just texting.” Jisoo answers, giving Wonwoo a light tap on his feet.

“That was you?” Wonwoo frowns, unconsciously getting into position again until his confusion stops him from going down all the way. “I thought I was talking to Seungcheol hyung.”

“Nope. All me since the address.” Jisoo rests his chin over Wonwoo’s knee, watching Wonwoo appear and disappear before his eyes with each sit-up. “And I’m fine. No phone exploded. No fire. No blood. I didn’t get hurt.”

Wonwoo pauses after a third sit-up and looks at him dubiously. “I can’t take you seriously when you have an upside-down fox pasted across your cheek.”

“You put it there.” Jisoo huffs and gives him a harder tap on the feet that makes Wonwoo start sit-ups again. “Besides, you can’t not see me forever, we’re dating. And it seems like our clubs are going to meld together soon, so.” Jisoo smiles. “Let’s go on a date. Can I take you out to the movies tonight?”

Wonwoo appears an inch before his nose again, arms crossed over his chest. “And risk feeding you poisoned popcorn?” He scoffs. “I don’t think so.”

Before Wonwoo can recline back down, Jisoo leans forward until their lips press together. After the intended, much too brief peck, he forces himself to separate, able to feel the ticklish heat crawling up his skin. Wonwoo stares, lips slightly parting and shoulders stiffening. Embarrassment—a different kind from the ones he’s felt around Wonwoo for the past week—mounts to his burning face and Jisoo lightly pushes Wonwoo back down against the mat.

“Wow, look! I’m still conscious, sort of. But hey, I’m not in pain!” He exaggerates to make his point, “I’m sure a movie together would be completely harmless.”

“You don’t know that. That wasn’t even a real kiss.” Wonwoo says, from below where Jisoo can’t see him. “I need real confirmation.”

He then sits up in a swift motion, hands slipping from his chest to gently cup Jisoo’s cheeks and kiss him on the mouth. Wonwoo’s lips stay long this time—it’s a real kiss—and Jisoo remembers the familiar insides of Wonwoo’s mouth, just enough to chase after Wonwoo’s tongue and make traces over his lips.

Wonwoo’s bent knees slide down limply, each leg against Jisoo’s side. He comes closer.

“You don’t taste like cigarettes anymore.” Wonwoo mumbles. “I like it.”

“I quit.” Jisoo whispers into Wonwoo’s sweet mouth. “I’m addicted to you.”

 

-

 

In hindsight, they should’ve known they’d be kicked out of the gym.

They’re never allowed back, whether they be students of the university or not, and Wonwoo pouts that it’s the jinx.

Jisoo doesn’t think so but he keeps quiet, because for continuing off from where they left off at the after party, right there in the gym showers, it’s not much of a repercussion.

“We can always go to that other gym.” Jisoo grins, intertwining his fingers into Wonwoo’s and keenly watching where he’s stepping—just in case.

Not that it matters, because Jisoo doesn’t need exercise to quit anything; he’s never qutting Jeon Wonwoo.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know if you liked it and i'll really appreciate it ♡


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